


a Wayfaring Stranger

by cousingreg



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: (mostly canon), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Comfort/Angst, Depression, Disabled Character, Gen, Military Background, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, Survivor Guilt, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-18 23:15:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29616939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cousingreg/pseuds/cousingreg
Summary: Buck volunteers at a suicide hotline, Eddie's alone in the dark. Together they are simply having conversations.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley & Eddie Diaz
Comments: 6
Kudos: 56





	1. Tell Me About The Game

The last thing Eddie Diaz sees is a brilliant colour of light, yellow and white, of blue and yonder. The clouds engulf into smoke and he’s thrown from his feet. An incredible feat of white, and then… Nothing. Black. Darkness. That’s where he is now, forever.

-

“ _Hello, this is the Dayton Suicide hotline, my name is Buck, and I’m here to listen. To help if I can. Can you tell me your name?”_ The voice is kind, and young. Eddie wasn’t expecting that. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t someone who sounds like they’re just out of their teens. Brilliant and alive, and unable to ever truly comprehend the things he’s seen. Suffered through. Known. “ _Hello? Are you still there?_ ”

He pulls the phone away from his face and hangs up.

This was a bad idea. There’s a gun in his hand, he can feel the cool metal, the hotness that it will become when the trigger is pulled and the gunpowder works its power. All he needs to do is put it to his head and pull. Simple really, right? So why is it so hard to do it? To pick it up. He’s not sure, but his hands shake, and that usually means it’s time for another drink.

Eddie knows this place now, better than before. He’s been here long enough to recognize the carpet from the bare living room to the hardwood floor kitchen, the line of metal under his socked foot that indicates a division. He can feel the round smoothness of it, even with cloth covering his skin. He prefers barefoot, but it’s February. It’s cold at night.

His hands land across the smooth surface of his counters, all the way to edge of a dip into a sink. Across more counter stop to a hard walled surface of coldness. His fridge. The handle on top, the coldness of vegetables he assumes, the small particles of the mixed kind, from groceries he’ll never eat, but that his aunt keeps bringing by anyway. The ice is in there, in little plates, he can feel it next to the plastic of it. He smashes it into the sink and picks out ice to put in the glass he carries, expect it’s not glass. It’s plastic, because dropping glass is dangerous for him.

All in all, what should take him five second takes closer to fifteen minutes to do. He could just take the bottle of rum, but he’s stubborn. And he’s not useless, except that he is, but he can do this. He can do more than what they say, and he’s angry. Eddie is furious. But mostly he’s tired and done with the world. With himself.

He finds his way back to his chair and sits down, and drinks. The only thing that keeps his mind from decaying away entirely.

-

“ _Hello, this is the Dayton Suicide hotline, my name is Buck, and I’m here to listen. Can you tell me your name?_ ” It’s the same, Buck. The same voice from last night. Eddie appreciates God’s sense of humour at the best of times, but this takes the cake. He laughs. He can’t help it, he just laughs, big and wide, and drunkenly. He’s almost ashamed of that, but it’s hard to feel shame anymore. To have any dignity at all, and yet he tries. Tries as any man can.

“ _What’s so funny?_ ” The man asks, clear amusement in his tone that only makes Eddie laugh the more harder until finally, it stops as a cool breeze drifts through his open window. It’s cold, it makes him shiver, but it reminds him that he’s alive.

“Nothing.” He tells the man- _Buck._

“ _You can tell me, I love jokes._ ”

“Nothing, it’s just, God’s funny sometimes, isn’t he?”

“ _I wouldn’t know, I’m not much of a believer._ ”

Eddie almost laughs again, stopping himself before he can spit out the rum on his tongue. God certainly is funny. Eddie wouldn’t consider himself much of a believer either these days. In fact he’s holding a gun in one hand and a glass of rum in the other. Two things God probably wouldn’t approve of, things his church definitely preached against. But he’s no saint, so maybe he gets a free pass. He almost laughs at that, too.

“ _I’m sorry, we’re not supposed to- to discredit those kinds of things, um you know what I can get you someone more Religious, just give me a sec-”_

“No.” Eddie says quickly, hand digging into the phone. He doesn’t want Buck to go. He likes his voice, and believing in God or not, Eddie’s never believed in coincidences. “No, stay. I uh, I like your voice.”

He can’t believe he said that, and he can almost see this Buck blushing. Whether he has dark eyes or light, hair that curls or is flat straight is anyone’s guess, especially his own, but his voice is kind. Soft with a hitch to it that screams of personality. A joking sort of way about him, an ease of understanding. Of caring. He’s louder when he feels things, sorry or happy. It’s only been a few minutes, but whether he’s young or not, Eddie feels… _something._ And that hasn’t happened in quite a while.

“ _Well, um, thank you. I, uh, like your voice, too._ ” Buck’s words are a little stuttering, almost nervous, and for once Eddie feels, _real._ Almost human. “ _I don’t even know your name. I mean, you don’t have to tell me, I just, I need something to call you by.”_

“Eddie.” Eddie says without thinking. “You can call me Eddie.” It used to be ‘Diaz’ or ‘Edmundo.’ Maybe even, ‘honey.’ But now, it’s just Eddie. Eddie.

“ _Eddie._ ” Buck echoes, and it sounds like wonder on his lips. “ _Well, Eddie, I’m Buck. Do you want to talk about why you called here this evening?”_

Eddie freezes at that, as it all comes back. The truth of everything and his world of darkness. He leans towards the coolness of the outside, feeling it on his face and willing it to be enough. “No particular reason.” He tells Buck, but all his words are strained and he’s not fooling anyone.

“ _Okay, Eddie._ ” Buck says, voice soft and sorry, like maybe he’s heard these words a hundred times before, and every time he hears them again, it breaks him a little. Caring too much, Eddie was right. He wonders how Buck does this job, or even why if only one call, one person can affect him so much. But maybe that’s why. Maybe he’s a person. “ _Did you see the game last night?_ ” He asks instead, and Eddie almost starts laughing again, but it would be bitter this time. No real humour at all. But he doesn’t laugh. Instead he nods and plays along with this little game. After all, what else does he have to do?

“No, I didn’t. Catch me up?”

Buck explains in rapid and animated detail about a game Eddie cares a little about or for, but Buck’s voice strong. Getting excited and cracking jokes throughout that leaves Eddie smiling more than he ever has. Buck explains everything with so much detail, it feels like Eddie is right there in the court, at center stage watching number seventeen dribble the ball to five for a winning goal. Himself cheering with Buck by his side.

When it’s over, he feels tired. As though he were a child listening to his parent’s last lullaby, ready to drop to sleep in a moment’s notice. But that could be the rum.

“ _You should have seen it, Eddie, it was a great game._ ”

“Maybe next time.” Eddie smiles, but it’s strained now. “I should go.”

“ _Oh, okay… I’m sorry but I have to ask, will you be safe tonight? Once we hang up?_ ”

Eddie grips the gun a little tighter and nods. “Y- Yeah, Buck. I’ll be fine. Goodnight.”

“ _Okay. Goodnight, Eddie._ ” Buck sounds hesitant, but he let’s go all the same until Eddie hears only a dial tone in his ear. Something like real feelings enters the equation, almost like tears, but he’s leaning back into the cold breeze, and into a dreamless sleep before he can put a name or face, or meaning behind any of them.

That night, the gun remains cold in his hands, for now.

-

“ _Hello, this is the Dayton Suicide hotline, my name is Buck, and I’m here to listen. Can I ask for your name?_ ” Buck’s voice sounds more tired than usual, it makes something within Eddie squeeze tightly.

“You sound tired.” He says without thought, a twinge of concern in his tone that even he can catch onto. He only hopes that Buck doesn’t. “Not getting enough sleep?”

“ _Eddie._ ” Buck says, and it’s the way he says it. As though Buck were happy to hear from him, as though he matters. It’s almost breathless, anticipation tinging on every syllable. Maybe even some surprise. He reminds Eddie of an excited puppy, of a dog who smiles and seeks one out for attention, unable not to give in. “ _I’m sleeping fine, it’s just work, you know? Long shift. How are you?_ ”

The way he asks it, tacked onto the end nonetheless, is filled with genuine concern. As though he really wants to know. Everyone else in the world as far Eddie has met them, has only ever asked because they must. Not because they want to, to know. But Buck does. Caring too much. He shouldn’t be caring for him. Eddie shouldn’t even be calling. He’s not worth the care, concern, or kindness. He’s not really a person, or even human anymore.

“Long shift?” He asks instead of answering, because that’s what catches his attention. Makes him wonder and think about this enigma that is Buck. Buck who somehow is able to make him smile. Buck who cares. Buck who laughs beautifully, with all the air in his lungs, probably head held back. Empathy bigger than himself. A voice kind and strong.

“ _Uh, yeah, well this is a volunteer center. I have a full-time job, but I volunteer here at nights. I guess I’m not really supposed to tell you this._ ” Buck sounds uncertain, laughing a little awkwardly.

Eddie tries to put him at ease with the honest truth of, “I have no one to tell.” It comes out more sadder and pathetic than he intended, but it is the truth all the same. There is no one to tell. His aunt comes by, but she leaves things at his door. They don’t speak. Eddie hasn’t spoken to anyone in… In a while. And what’s the point really?

He hears Buck’s hesitant breath, a lingering tense filled silence of sorrow before Buck smiles into his next words. “ _I work as a firefighter for LAFD. We had a really bad suicide and, it was tough, you know? He said some things about always getting the busy dial at these places and I looked around, I was angry about it, but it turns out they just don’t have enough volunteers. So I…”_

“Volunteered.” Eddie finishes for him, a sadness in his own voice now, his heart in his stomach, a loaded gun on his lap. He feels shame. There could be someone out there waiting for this call, it could mean their life, and he’s using it up. His useless…

“ _Yeah. And I- I actually kind of like it. I get to help people more here sometimes I think._ ”

“You’re a good man, Buck.” Eddie tells him and it sounds final even to his own ears. The gun is warming under his palm.

“ _E- Eddie, come on talk to me. What was your day like? What happened?_ ”

“Nothing.” Eddie tells him and it comes out angry. He feels angry. He’s always so angry. At himself, at the world. “Nothing ever happens, Buck. Nothing. I’m just… Alone. It’s just me out here in the…” _Dark._

“ _It- it’s not just you anymore, Eddie, I’m here. I’m right here._ ” Buck sounds desperate and sorry, and Eddie doesn’t deserve it. He knows that he doesn’t. There’s almost tears in his eyes and it’s selfish really. It all is. “ _Just talk to me, Eddie, I’m going to get you through this.”_

“I gotta go.” Eddie whispers hoarsely before he hangs up and drops the phone to the ground. He’s not sure where it lands, only that it does, somewhere in front of him. A _plunk_ onto carpet. The window is shut today and it’s warm in here. He could open it, but the gun in his hand beckons him to stay.

-

“ _Hello, this is the Dayton Suicide hotline, my name is Buck, and I’m here to listen. Can I ask for your name?_ ” Buck’s voice sounds normal, but Eddie can hear the anticipation too. The hesitancy that leaves his stomach tumbling around inside. “ _I’m here to help._ ” How Eddie wishes that he could.

“Did you catch the game last night, Buck?”

“ _Eddie._ ” Such relief that it leaves Eddie vulnerable, his heart beating too fast. Eyes almost misty, and guilt, oh that familiar guilt, with its tall hat and smirk of promised gold. “ _I was so scared. Are you okay? Please, just talk to me._ ”

He opens his mouth wanting to speak, to say something, but all that comes out is a crooked and tired smile with no real joy behind it as he asks, almost pleadingly, “Tell me about the game?”

He can hear the hesitancy across the phone from Buck, the uncertainty of which direction to take this. Which avenue to pursue but in the end Buck tells him sternly, “ _Don’t scare me like that again, Eddie, please._ ”

“Okay, Buck. I won’t.” Eddie says, and he isn’t sure if he means it. He shouldn’t be calling back, really he shouldn’t. But something about Buck draws him in and forces him to. Forces him to put the gun down and pick up the phone. He’s never felt more weak, or angry, or upset, or- or _anything._ For the first time, the numbness recedes, the eternal darkness feels like it’s giving way to some kind of light. Only that’s not possible, because when he does open his eyes he sees nothing, and he never will. Still as blind as the day of colours dancing in the sky. The explosion of a grenade that took any real life he had, away.

“ _So, the game. It wasn’t as good as last time, but someone did almost die so there was that._ ”

Buck’s just trying to be funny, entertaining. Eddie smiles bitterly all the same, but he’s not sure he could ever truly stay mad at Buck, especially when he has no idea what he just said. Besides, Eddie prefers to keep it that way.

“How’d that happen, Buck?” He eggs on instead.


	2. He feels like he knows them, The 118

“ _Apparently, my sister and my co-worker are sort of dating now. I mean, they talk all the time and have these ‘food dates’ where Chimney orders everything Maddie likes since she can never make up her mind and he can’t cook._ ” Buck’s voice is soothing, like a balm on a horrible burn. Eddie could listen to him all day. He takes him away from himself.

“You sound like you don’t mind all that much.” Eddie replies with, a small smile in his voice, one that he echoes of Buck’s.

“ _Yeah, well, Maddie deserves better than that bastard she was with before_.” Eddie can hear the very real anger in his voice. The sadness and guilt of it all. It makes himself curl his hand into a fist wanting to avenge Buck in some way. It’s not his fault, how could he have known?

“It’s not your fault, Buck.” He tells him all the same, fingers gripping the phone, the gun off on a table nearby. He doesn’t hold onto it, but he can grab it and pick it up any time.

“ _That’s what she says, but I still should have seen it, you know?_ ”

“You were a kid when she started dating the other guy, right? It’s not.”

“ _We pinky promised that we’d always be there for each other._ ” Buck says almost sadly.

“And you are.” Eddie insists. “Right now, you’re being a good brother. Being there for her.”

“ _Thanks, Eddie._ ” And he sounds it, grateful, thankful, but curious too. Eddie can hear the hints of it before he even asks the question. “W _hat about you? Do you have any siblings?_ ”

“None as great as your sister.” Eddie says and he means it. He knows it’s not their fault, Sophia or Adrienne, they have their own families to look after, but they were never that close. Never there for him like Buck’s sister Maddie was for him and vice versa. Eddie would be lying if he said that he wasn’t the littlest bit envious. “So why do they call him, ‘Chimney’?”

Buck laughs at this, big, full, and rich. Like chocolate and sunshine, or something. “ _Now that is a long story.”_

Eddie smiles. “I’ve got time.”

-

“ _When we were younger, my parents never really paid us much attention, at least me anyway. I didn’t get why, you know? But Maddie was there. She was there when no one else was._ ”

“You’re lucky, Buck.”

“ _How are you feeling tonight, Eddie?_ ” Buck’s voice is hesitant, and Eddie knows why. It’s been a week straight of him calling. Of listening to Buck explain the crows at the 118 that Hen and Buck make fun of Chimney about. The food that Bobby cooks, showing Buck how to make the sauce just right. The older guys who have been around forever teasing Buck about the woman at the café across the street who always gives him an extra cookie. About Maddie and his life as a rancher, construction worker, and possible SEAL. A bartender, a life trying to find a place where he fits in. A place of his own.

Eddie can relate more than he’d like to. The only difference is that he hasn’t found that. A place of his own. A life that felt like he chose it. People who love him, _family._ If he had to say, he’d say Buck is pretty close to all that. The 118, too, as lame as that is. He feels like he knows them well enough, can hear Hen’s warm laughter, feel the punch of Chimney to his shoulder in comradery. Taste Bobby’s famous tomato sauce. Feel the famous glare of Athena Grant, although he’ll never see it. Feel Maddie’s hugs too.

“It must be nice.” He says, his thoughts a mess and tears in his throat. Choking on it and some envy. It’s hard to describe, but it’s mostly a sadness seeped in the bare reality that he’ll never have that. Never get the chance to have it.

He drinks.

“ _What is?_ ”

“Nothing.” Eddie mumbles. “I should go.”

“ _But you never answered my question_ …” Buck says and it sounds like a question, a wondering and a pleading all wrapped up into one.

For a few long moments they just breathe, over the line like that old _Scream_ movie. The one Shannon made him watch a hundred times. Her favourite, his not so much. He prefers- _preferred_ realistic drama. Stories of valour just as much as understanding. That was before the war. Now what he wouldn’t give to curl up next to some honey and watch a comedy that he doesn’t find funny one bit. Or maybe he does, because she does.

In the dark of this place, it all seems so far away.

“ _Eddie?_ ” Buck’s voice is hesitant and uncertain, a little more pleading. “ _You promised, remember?_ ”

He’s sure that he didn’t, but he doesn’t argue with Buck. And he’s sure that it was in regards to leaving so abruptly, not in answering these types of questions, of trying to but again, he doesn’t correct Buck. Doesn’t argue. Instead he swallows something sour down, something old and dusty, and says, “I don’t know, Buck. I just don’t know.”

“ _Okay, Eddie. Okay.”_

He has to smile, his heart thumping in something like appreciation. For how kind Buck is, how caring. Why would he care for someone like him, huh? But the truth is plain and simple, _he doesn’t know._ He doesn’t know how in the dark Eddie is, or how he got here. There’s a bit of a tenseness now and it makes Eddie’s skin crawl. He’s not good at this, and it feels strange with Buck to be so on edge so he smiles and says almost jokingly, “You trying to be my therapist now, Buck?”

“ _Why? Do you want me to? I did a half semester of first year Psych you know._ ”

“Was this before or after the ranch?”

“ _Before asshole. And then I crashed my bike and ruined it all._ ” He sounds almost sorry, but Eddie can hear the undercurrents of happiness in it. And Eddie knows Buck better now, can feel the hitch in it all. He understands.

“You don’t sound so upset about it though.” He says.

Eddie can hear the smile in Buck’s voice as he says back, “ _Yeah, well, it got me here. There’s nowhere I’d rather be. This is where I belong. Being a firefighter and doing this, it’s my life._ ”

“You’ve got people too, Buck. That isn’t nothing.” _And you can live a normal life. Have someone._

“ _I know. You do too, Eddie. I mean, you’ve got me, and your aunt._ ”

Eddie blinks, heart flipping a little in surprise. “I told you about her?” He asks as he racks his brain for when he mentioned her.

“ _Yeah, remember? I asked if you ate and you said that she brings food over. You’ve got her. She obviously cares about you if she’s bringing food every week. Look, I don’t know your situation Eddie, but you’ve got people too. You’ve got her, and you’ve- you’ve got me._ ”

“Maybe.” Eddie concedes. “But I’ll always be alone here, Buck.” _Alone in the dark._

He remembers when he first woke up. Eyes opening and straining as hands came up to the bandages. He tried to claw them off at first, the sedation making him loopy, uncertain of where he was or who he was. A medic came in and stopped him before he could do any real damage. The time he was lucid enough to truly understand, his aunt stood beside him, hand clutched in his own. His parents off to the side, he could hear their voice and questions, their breathing, away from him as they’ve always been. Eddie felt so alone, he was alone. His son was crying in the other room, but he couldn’t go to him. How could he be a father?

“I have to go.” He whispers into the phone, unsure even of what Buck said, if he said anything at all.

“ _E- Eddie, wait. You’ll be safe, right?_ ” Buck sounds almost desperate and Eddie hates what he’s doing to the other man, job or not, he doesn’t deserve this. Deserve him. No one does. “ _I know it’s selfish to say, but talking to you, it’s really helped me too, Eddie. There’s not a whole lot of people I can talk to here about some of this stuff. About Bobby feeling like a dad or how angry I am with Maddie sometimes. How alone I feel too. How I’ve been alone for so long it’s hard not to be now. To stop with these ‘unhealthy relationships.’ What- What I’m trying to say, is you’re kind of a good friend right now for me. Please, just be safe, okay? For me if nothing else._ ”

When he’s done, Buck breathes a little more heavily, hesitantly too and Eddie slips his eyes shut as if it mattered if he didn’t, an old reflex. His heart hammers in his chest and his hands shake, and he feels something more than nothing. Some of the things Buck just said, he’s never said before. About being alone. About how he really feels about his ‘family.’ How hard it is to not be alone. Eddie wishes he had his kind of problems, and then there’s guilt for that thought because he has no idea what Buck’s really been through. Expect that he does. Alone without family for so long, since he was a kid in fact. He had Maddie for a long time, but Buck was always forging ahead alone. Clinging from relationship to relationship to just not feel alone anymore.

Buck said he had a ‘few’ relationships. But now it all makes sense. It all fits together.

And…

“Friends, huh?” Eddie asks.

“ _Yeah. I- I mean, if- if you’re okay with that. I mean we sort of are like friends, aren’t we?_ ”

Eddie nods to himself, another old habit with no real purpose anymore because Buck can’t see him either. Eddie almost laughs at that. “Then I’ll talk to you tomorrow… _Friend._ ” And he almost laughs to himself, in fact he does and he hears as Buck chuckles over the line too.

“ _Okay,_ friend _. See you.”_

“Goodbye, Buck.” And then he hangs up, smiling, and that’s different. A lot different.

-

“ _Can I ask how you found this hotline? I’m guessing you googled it._ ” Buck says one day, voice soft and hesitant, curious even.

“No, I didn’t. My aunt left it in a bag with the food.” Eddie says, what he doesn’t say is that it was raised letters. Not braille, but letters raised, easy to trace with his fingers. To feel them. Numbers, too. Eddie never bothered to learn the official language of the blind. He’s never seen a point to it. He didn’t even think that he’d make it to March.

“ _She must really care about you… Have you tried talking to her?_ ”

Eddie smiles, softly and bitterly. “Getting tired of my already, Buck?” He’s mostly teasing but he wonders. He shouldn’t be sitting here talking to someone, whining about his problems. There are people far worse off and he’s- he’s guilty for the way he’s sorry for himself. He just wants this darkness to be over. All of it to be over.

“ _No! No, never. I just, I want you to have people around you too, Eddie. You should you know? And you do. You should try talking to her._ ” Buck explains.

“Do you talk to Bobby? About how alone you feel?”

A hesitant pause before Buck’s voice cracks a little with, “ _H- He knows. He’s there for me. Him and Athena, I come over for dinner every Sunday at theirs. It’s sort of a tradition now. Sometimes Maddie comes, but sometimes I don’t want her to. I know it’s mostly Doug’s fault, but she left me._ ”

Eddie thinks of his own child. His son’s soft brown eyes and small hand curled around his fingers. His wife’s sweaty face and smile so happy, nothing could ever compare. A small bundle that saw perfectly and was perfect. _Is._ Sunshine shining down below. Both of his parents having left him.

Eddie sits in the dark and remembers it all, even when he doesn’t want to. He’s left with big fat tears rolling down his cheeks, the feel of them hot. The smell and taste, salty. He wonders where he is now. His parents hugging and holding him close? Fixing their mistakes with him. Doing everything right. Everything that he can’t. ( _“What kind of life would he have? A blind man’s son? One with CP. You can’t take care of him. You just can’t… But we can. We can give him a good life, a full life.”)_

“ _Eddie? Are you still there?_ ”

“Will you ever stop hating her Buck? Could you ever forgive her?” Eddie asks, lost in his own immovable suffering and choice.

He hears Buck breathe, sucking in a soft and long breath before, “ _She’s already forgiven, Eddie. I forgave her the moment she said she was leaving. Because I got it, you know? I understand. And I love her, more than anyone._ ”

And then Eddie puts a hand to his face and let’s a sob come forth at the thought of his son’s innocent face. His happy smile. Arms tight around him. He cries.

“ _H- Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay, I’m here, Eddie. Everything’s going to be fine._ ” Buck says it sadly, desperately with his own tears on the verge and Eddie wonders if he’ll ever not be guilty. If he’ll ever deserve this life, a barely there life all the same, but if he will.

He wishes Buck is right. That everything is going to be fine, but it’s not. He’s not sure…

The gun is a comfort. 

“ _Please, Eddie. Just talk to me… I barely know anything about you. What can it hurt? If you’re just going to do it anyway?”_

“Fuck you, Buck.” Is his immediate response through his tears.

“ _I’m sorry. I- I didn’t mean that._ ” Buck does sound sorry, and Eddie feels guilty because he knows he hasn’t said anything, but how can he? It’s shameful. He’s ashamed. Embarrassed. Terrified.

“No.” Eddie tells him as he pushes the grief of many strands, away. “You’re right.”

“ _Eddie, you don’t have to…_ ”

“No, I- It’s okay, Buck. It’s okay.” He’s angry, with himself, with the world, but not at Buck. Never at Buck. "It's okay."

A short hesitant breath, then, “ _Is it, Eddie?_ ”


	3. You have a Son

There’s a song his wife used to sing, with their son still in her womb, she’d laminate like some old court minstrel. A tune he could never really decipher, but it was pretty and it made him think of the birds singing. Of summer breezes and clear blue skies. Shannon would take his hand and put it against her stomach, the life inside jumping around. They’d look to one another in gentle surprise and so much love. Because that life was theirs.

His wife would sing and they’d listen. These were the small moments that made the gun in his hand and the trigger he had to pull, worth it. The blood he’d have to soak up. The desert storms that left him feeling like his lungs would rip out of his chest. That he wouldn’t survive the aftermath. It was worth it.

It was always one more tour. One more. Because without it, how could he provide? How could he be the man his father taught him to be? The husband and father.

In moments where his ears would ring, he’d hear her singing and feel that nudge of life. Of wonderful suffering.

But that day, all there was, was silence of sound. Of her voice. No more. A terrible omen that signalled the end. But not death, something worse.

-

_“Get DOWN!” He pulls Duncan to the ground, gun armed in hand as overhead something drops and subsequent explosions erupt. There’s dirt flying everywhere and Eddie is just trying to stay down, to avoid the worst of it. He’s not alone in this foxhole. He can feel the heartbeat of the others, pressed limb to limb, breath heavy and deep in the quietness of the smoky air around them. His eyes are shut and when he opens them he wonders what he’ll see. That short moment of complete fear where anything is possible._

_But he looks from one to the other and they all give each other a small smile, because they’re fine. They’re fine, and then-_

**_BANG._ **

_“GET OUT! RUN!”_

Eddie sits up in darkness, his hands clawing all around him, trying to get free. To get out of the bomb, to get out of the hole where it’s landed. He claws at dirt and tries to get free. He’s on his carpet floor, crushing into his knees as he crawls out of cover into something more safe, away from it all. He’s reaching out for the others, but he can’t grip them. He can’t get out. He can’t-

He’s kneeling up. Hands on the hard wood of a windowsill he’s sure, face covered in the warmth of the sun. He feels it and it’s not like the sun over there… It’s different. A breeze so cold, it can’t be any desert place. Not with the sun so warm. It moves across his arms, raising gooseflesh across his skin, his hair standing on edge. Standing tall. He stands tall too, until his hand is raised against it both and he can feel more… Alive. More real.

“Duncan?” He asks into the quiet of the room. He can’t see anything. It’s all darkness all around him, but he can feel the sun and the breeze, and he shivers. The only thing that responds is the chirp of birds, foreign to where he once was. Something that is supposed to be here but isn’t. None of it makes sense in his fuzzied mind.

He sits back down just as suddenly, against a cold hard surface, a wall, head hitting the slightly protruding wood of what must be a windowsill. His hands reaching out, scrambling across scratchy carpet to the round almost empty bottle. A smooth surface, with a bottle cap that comes off easily. He puts it to his mouth and drinks heavily. Hands shaking for a different reason other than the breeze and the cold.

Duncan’s not here. Duncan’s dead.

They all are.

-

“ _Hello, this is the Dayton Suicide hotline, my name is Buck, and I’m here to listen. To help if I can. Can you tell me your name?_ ”

“E- Eddie. It’s Eddie.” His voice doesn’t sound like his own. He’s been drinking all day, or at least trying to. He’s all out now and the service he uses for dropping off the drinks is closed for the day. He’s left terribly sober. Usually he’s not this careless, but things have been differnet lately. He’s starting to feel. He’s Sweating, on edge, and sick to his stomach. His hands shake even as he tries to hold the phone to his ear and he’s not sure what is real. The sun is gone and it’s cold, but it’s cold in the desert too. It doesn’t mean anything.

He’s on a couch but that could be a trick.

“ _Eddie, hey._ ” He can hear the smile in Buck’s voice. The kindness in it, and the relief too. That hurts, but he understands why. He’d probably be the same in Buck’s shoes. If Buck is really here. Is he?

“Buck?” He asks, because he needs to be sure.

“ _Y- Yeah. Eddie, it’s me. Are you- Are you okay? You sound strange._ ”

“It’s you.” He says because he believes it now, feels it in his chest, in his heart and it’s a relief. A relief so strong that he breathes deeply in gratitude. A prayer sent up to God for this, because he was so on edge and losing his mind. Unsure of his own reality. Where he was. What if they got him? What if he never made it out?

“ _Yeah, Eddie, it’s me. Can you tell me where you are? What you see?_ ”

Eddie laughs, but it’s not a real laugh, it’s a letting out of tight air. Because it’s horrible but it’s true. This is real. This just proves it.

He can’t see anything.

“I’m at home. Don’t worry, Buck. I just- I needed to make sure.”

“ _…Why?_ ” And Buck sounds so confused and concerned that it makes something within Eddie tighten.

“I woke up and forgot.” It’s more honest than he means to be, but somehow he can be. “How are you?”

“ _I’m fine, Eddie. What did you forget?_ ” More concern.

It seems like Buck isn’t going to let this go so easily. He didn’t even call here because he was thinking dark thoughts, he only called to make sure that this was real. How pathetic is that? How fucked up is he? His gun is somewhere nearby, always nearby, but his hands shake and he wouldn’t be able to shoot all that good right now even if he tried. And if he is going to do it, he wants to do it right.

( _“Daddy! W- Where a- are you g- going?_ )

“What’s real, Buck?”

Suddenly he’s hearing his son’s voice, so young and small, and so afraid. So desperate. But as much he faltered, he kept walking away, because his parents were right. How can he take care of him? He can’t even take care of himself? He’s a burden, a leech. Barely human. It would be better to be dead.

“I should have died, Buck.”

( _“I wan- want to g- go with you! D- Dad! DAD!”_ )

“ _What?_ ” Buck says and he sounds like he’s trying to hold something back, something deep and profound. As though he’s holding back his real fear and all the things he wishes to truly say. He sounds very afraid and Eddie has never wanted to make him afraid. He never meant to make it this far at all. “ _N- No, Eddie. W- Whatever happened, you survived, right? That has to mean something. God wanted you to.”_

He almost laughs. “But you don’t believe in God, Buck.”

“ _But you do. And He wouldn’t want this, right? I don’t want this. I don’t want you dead, you’re my friend, Eddie. You’re like my best friend, okay? I’ll miss you. Your aunt will miss you, and I know that she can’t be the only one who will… I’m right aren’t I?”_

( _“You’re doing the right thing, son._ ”)

A hand to his eyes, along the scars that can be traced, raised flesh in white and red that he’ll never see. Or truly understand their horror. Tears in his useless eyes as he says desperately, “I don’t want to be in the dark anymore, Buck. I- I can’t be here anymore.”

He thinks of Duncan and all the rest of them, the last faces he ever saw. The brilliant colours above, and the grenade he meant to throw somewhere else. Anywhere but where they all stood crowded in a foxhole. All seven, dead.

This is his penance, his suffering for what he’s done. He reaches for that gun, the cold metal and the heaviness of it a comfort and a weighted pleasure. He knows where he’s going when he pulls this trigger. _Hell._ But hell is fire, and it is something more than just darkness. It is more than the memory of their faces, and the colours, brilliant in the skies. The clouds of smoke. Thrown from his feet into a terrible purgatory. He’s not even sure which way is up and which is down. What is real. What is right.

If he could do something, maybe he would.

But he can’t.

“ _Eddie, talk to me._ ” Buck insists, and his voice sounds far stronger than ever before, but Eddie knows him better than that by now. He can hear the break in it, the pure desperation to save his life. A life that was never meant to be saved. A soul that cannot seek redemption. It was an accident they said. But accidents are caused, they don’t just happen. If he wasn’t there- or better yet, if he just died. Maybe it would reset some kind of balance. Put some sort of justice forward into God’s hands.

“ _I can’t do anything- I can’t fucking help you, if you won’t talk to me._ ”

Eddie shuts his eyes and just breathes for a very long moment before he opens them again, the same darkness as before and after. It makes no difference. And says, “You’re right.” He doesn’t know why he says it. Only that he does. “There is someone else.”

( _“I l- love you, d- dad.”_ )

He can see his brown eyes and lips upturned in a smile as they ran through fields of grass, Shannon by their side, a kite flying high above. Brilliant colours of light, yellow and white, of blue yonder. They were having a picnic, one final day together before his last tour. It was cold out, but it was beautiful and he was happy. They all were.

“ _Someone who will miss you?_ ”

“M- My son.” The words are the hardest he’s ever had to say really. Because what kind of father is he? Hm? Here in a chair with a bottle of empty rum that he drank in two days? A loaded gun in hand? Darkness and a uselessness that precedes anything else. Barely alive. Barely human. Wearing shame and guilt so closely cloaked and guarded along his back, he’s not sure where that ends and himself begins. If they will ever separate. If he’s deserving of even this much. Of a conversation. Of companionship. Of the very next breath that he takes. Of being a father at all.

“ _You have a son._ ” And it’s said with such wonder and awe, such silent surprise that it almost makes Eddie smile. Despite every flaw of his character and being, his son is the perfection in it all. Kind and caring, fierce and strong. Full of every good thing in this world. “ _I- uh, I love kids… What’s his name?_ ”

“Christopher.” And this time he does smile as he thinks of him. And for one beautiful moment, all the awful things don’t exist anymore, and it’s just him, and his son. And a world with kites and picnics, a world of colour and light. A world where darkness does not overshadow. But then the moment leaves him, and he’s here in a room where no light enters. “I’m sorry.” He says, and he’s not sure if he’s saying it to Buck, to God, or to Christopher. Maybe to all of them. To his aunt, to Shannon, and to- _himself._

“ _Christopher will miss you._ ” Buck sounds so sure, so confident that it makes Eddie’s heart squeeze. Makes the guilt fill in tenfold. He shouldn’t have told him, but he did. And now here they are, an impasse. Because with just one spoken name, Buck can make him take his finger off of the trigger, put the gun down - away, and _exist._ Live.

In the end, he breathes and says, “I miss myself.” But not for himself. 


End file.
